


Through Moments in Time

by swindalynn



Series: Red Wonder [4]
Category: Batwoman (Comic), Wonder Woman (Comics)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/F, Slow Burn, canon typical action, fated/destined ...maybe, some sexual situations, stitching together their canon storylines because why not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19339480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swindalynn/pseuds/swindalynn
Summary: They met anonymously. Then nearly every defining moment in their lives and every extreme circumstance designed to keep them apart still somehow leads them back to each other without them even knowing. Fate only takes us so far, though. The rest is up to them.03.15.2020 - New chapter, ...tada?





	1. Burn Bright and Morning Side

**New York City, 2004**

The minute Diana walks through the door, she is assaulted by stale air and unnatural smoke, the kind that comes from the soft little sticks the people here light with small canisters of fire. Cigarettes, they call them. She doesn't understand why exactly this practice is so popular here. It smells foul and curdles her lungs to just breathe the excess. 

Diana surveys the small establishment, dimly lit and packed with people. Something akin to music is playing and on the far side of the room a crowd of people dance. It makes her wonder if this is a private festival. She notices the way many of the patrons are coupled in small tables and dark corners and the room carries a vague smell of lust. She immediately corrects her self. Or a bacchanalia? Maybe she was mistaken about the sign on the door.

The flash of red catches her eye and when she looks, she finds a young woman leaning against the far wall watching her. In the dim lighting, her hair looks dark auburn, like oxygen starved blood from a vein. It falls just to her strong jawline. She watches her with the silent interest of a jaguar prowling the night. It's both strangely flattering and unsettling at once. 

Diana gathers herself. The gods did not send her here to be proved a coward though. She is the champion of the amazons, the daughter of Hippolyta. She must be brave. She moves to approach this flame-haired envoy of the gods.

Across the room, Katherine Rebecca Kane is leaning against the wall with her hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. She is half-way through her second year at West Point and, as she had expected of herself, is pulling the highest scores in her class. She thinks that earns her a little fun away from campus. She likes this place because they never card and she can buy herself a pint of cheap beer, aside from other pleasures, that is.

Kate noticed her as soon as she stepped through the door. Tall, dark hair full of waves that fall in cascades passed her shoulders. Her cheekbones were high, her lips full, and her eyes burn bright in the dim lighting like they are lit with a fire she carries inside. It's breathtaking. She cuts a sharp figure in a light-colored peacoat with sharp smooth lines, buttoned and latched around her waist with a belt. She looks like she stepped right out of a magazine. 

This woman with her eyes so bright scans the room with a discerning awareness. Kate can't take her eyes off her. By the way she takes in the room uncertainly, Burn Bright here is probably another straight woman unfortunate enough to wander in by sheer curiosity.

Just another cruel, heterosexual tease to a place made for starved lesbians. Kate sniggers and pulls her hands from her pockets to adjust her collar. This is when Burn Bright's gaze finds her and makes her pause. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, Burn Bright looks at her like she looks into her, like she sees no one else but her. Kate isn't sure how to take that just yet.

Back by the door, Diana is intercepted by a woman who blocks her way. The woman is half a head shorter than Diana, sandy hair combed back out of her face. She is stocky and well built, not unlike some of her sisters back home. Diana can even imagine her fitting in seamlessly there. 

“Hey, beautiful,” the woman asks with a smile and directs Diana's attention to the bar. “Buy you a drink?”

“No, but thank you,” Diana says, evenly. She offers a smile. Julia Kapatelis is still teaching her the finer nuances of English. She takes a few seconds to remember if there is a stock response to use in this situation and then settles on, “I'm sorry. Excuse me.” 

She moves to step around, but stops short when the woman side steps with her. Before her view is blocked again, Diana glances across the room and is relieved to see the envoy still leans against the wall, observing her and the stranger.

“Hey, what's that accent? Where you from?” The stranger smiles but it feels dishonest. “Don't tell me you're here by yourself.”

Kate is watching with curiosity when Burn Bright is approached by this stranger attempting to pick her up. She notices the short, clipped responses Burn Bright gives her in response, despite the sweet smile. When she begins to step around her and the stranger blocks her path again, Burn Bright looks back toward Kate. She seems relieved to find her still in the same spot like she had been worried Kate disappeared. 

Well, if that's not a sign, Kate thinks, and then pushes herself up from the wall. She makes her way over unnoticed by either. The stranger is laying the lines too thick to be smooth and what Kate overhears when she nears makes her want to gag.

“What idiot left you alone tonight? Pretty thing like you deserves to be worshipped, honey.” A nauseating smile. “All night long.” 

Kate slips in between them to force the stranger a step back and then drapes an arm along Burn Bright's shoulders.

She fixes her gaze on the stranger and says, “Who says she won't be?” 

Beneath the light gray cashmere of her peacoat, Burn Bright's shoulders are surprisingly hard and well-defined. Kate finds the thought an immediate and attractive tease. She can smell her shampoo even over the smell of booze and sex that never leaves this place. It's a simple and clean scent absent artificial fragrances, something fresh and oddly elegant. 

Burn Bright glances her way and Kate can see her processing the situation quickly before she shifts her weight to comfortably lean into Kate's side in a way that suggests a familiarity between them. Kate's a little more than impressed. She levels the stranger with a look she hopes is smug as hell as she tilts her head. While the stranger sneers, Kate takes the time to size her up. Just a hair shorter than herself, strong looking with decent muscle on her arms, but probably not trained to use that muscle combatively. Kate's pretty positive she could take her in a fight if she has to.

“Who are you?” The stranger gives her a judging once over, unimpressed.

“Who me?” Kate asks, innocently, then drops the act completely. “No one concerned with you.” 

She lets her hand slide from Burn Bright's shoulders to the small of her back and slips her arm possessively around her waist with a knowing look to the stranger. Then she confidently leads her away.

“Not even five minutes and already someone wants up your skirt,” Kate says loud enough for the stranger to overhear. Burn Bright is about to say something, but Kate leans over to whisper near her ear, “Follow me, smile like we're old friends, and don't look back or she'll start a fight.”

It takes only a half second of consideration before Burn Bright follows her instructions and offers a smile that nearly sucker punches Kate in the heart. She was beautiful from across the room, but up close she is devastating. Something tells Kate that nothing happens to this woman unless she allows it.

“Why?” Burn Brightt says as she lets Kate whisk her away. “I do not know her.” 

“You don't know me either,” Kate tells her, “but here you are walking away with me instead of her. Some people don't like losing like that.”

As they walk, Burn Bright plays her part and offers a smile. She is watching Kate, assessing, but in a way that can be mistaken for enraptured by anyone looking. It's the home run for Kate's cover story. Behind them, the stranger is shouting angry threats, but Burn Bright seems to have already forgotten her and Kate is not far behind.

“I am not a prize for her to win.” Bright Eyes says this with conviction and with the distinct vowels and soft crinkling consonants of a mediterranean accent that is nothing short of seducing.

Kate chuckles and then ducks them around a young group of friends crowding around a small table until they are out of sight of the stranger. Then she withdraws her hand arm from the perfect waist and replaces the respectful distance between them.

“An ego like that will jump on a fight over pride just as quickly as a fight over a woman,” she says, nodding her head back in the direction they left the stranger. “Are you sure you're in the right place, anyway? You're not looking for that little tourist trap a few doors down?”

“I ...am not sure,” Burn Bright says glancing around, her expression turning contemplative. “There was an owl. I followed it here and I saw the labrys on the door.” 

There are a few things Kate can ask about here. She doesn't understand the reference to the owl and is tempted to ask about it. Instead, she focuses on the symbol on the door of the bar, the double-headed ax that advertises this establishment to those knowledgable as female friendly. Ladies welcome. Ahoy, lesbians. Here there be dykes. 

She spots a couple leave a small table shoved against the wall, headed toward the bathroom in a hurry. Before anyone else can claim it, Kate pulls a chair out for Burn Bright who considers it momentarily. She unties the belt of the peacoat and unbuttons it, but leaves the coat on when she sits down. Kate sits perpendicular to her around the table corner, because it's more intimate than sitting across and less presumptuous than sitting beside.

“Well,” she says, taking a moment to correct her first impression. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

“What were you wrong about?”

Burn Bright says this with a kind of innocence balanced by an unspoken savvy Kate has only encountered with foreign nationals. On Burn Bright, she finds it devastating in its charm. 

“I thought you were straight,” she says, “The labrys is an obscure symbol now. Not many people know it or remember what it means anymore. If you do, then maybe you do belong here.”

Diana catches bits and pieces of this, enough to infer most of the meaning, but she stumbles over some of the words themselves. What does she mean by straight? Why does she speak of the labrys like it denotes a kind of exclusivity? And why did she immediately think it excluded Diana based on sight alone?

“I do not –.” She stops and remembers contractions. “I don't understand. What is here? This place? Why would I not belong?” 

The envoy regards her in a way that comes off amused, like she knows many things Diana doesn't despite the youth of her face. The expression is striking on her and she rests her forearms on the table and leans forward watching Diana silently for a moment. Then she nods to the rest of the room. Diana follows her gaze and notices the bacchanalia has progressed further. 

The bar is occupied by only women and most have already paired and lean close in darkened booths and tables with seductive smiles. A few kiss passionately against walls or on the floor where they sway to music pressed against each other. Bacchus now supervises this night.

“This is a hook up bar,” the envoy says. “That's all anyone comes here for, myself not excluded.” 

Diana doesn't know the proper translation for “hook up” but she thinks she understands. She turns back to their table and breathes a small sigh. The labrys is an archaic symbol. It was once carried by Zeus himself before it was replaced by his thunderbolts. It seems to have developed new meanings once it was abandoned. Perhaps this woman is no envoy from the gods after all. 

She is wary how the envoy considers her now, studying with eyes sharp, and probably noticing small details Diana is sure she herself broadcasts unknowingly. Diana wonders what she is noticing and what conclusions she draws. 

“You look disappointed,” the envoy says, lifting a hand to rest her chin on it. 

“I'm sorry. I am not disappointed in you. I am liking your company.” Diana offers an apologetic smile. “But I had thought you sent by gods. I am mistaken.”

The envoy laughs and the sound of it, the very sight of it, strikes something deep inside that surprises Diana. It's a sudden attachment, an immediate like, and it is not one of mere camaraderie either. She has not felt an affinity like this off-island yet, has never felt it for someone she hadn't known since she was a child, and definitely never for someone she knows nothing about. That is, until this moment right here on this night.

“Well,” the envoy says, sitting back to run her hands through her hair. “I almost thought you were coming on to me and then you invalidated it in the same breath. Shame.”

“'Coming on to you'?” Diana questions. There are so many phrases tonight she has not encountered before, so many things she feels ill-equipped to fathom. 

“Picking me up. For that.” The envoy nods back toward the dark corners of the bar where the fog of lust is heaviest. “Or something more.”

A flush comes to Diana's face at the implication. She doesn't have to ask what “picking up” or “something more” means in this context.

“No, I--,” she says and then stops. Glances down. Maybe blushes. “I don't know your name.” 

“No, no names,” the envoy says, leaning back on the table to stress the point. “I come here to be anonymous. I need to keep it that way.”

It's a peculiar thing to want for Diana. She wants to ask why, but she can see in the flame that lights her eyes there is good reason for it. She nods to convey her understanding. 

“Then what shall we call each other?” she asks instead.

“I've been calling you Burn Bright in my head all night. I think I'll stick with that,” the envoy says with a mysterious air. “And you thought I was a messenger of gods, huh? Like Mercury?”

Diana is offended at the false name, and says, firmly, “No, not Mercury. Fleet Hermes.” 

“Fleet Hermes,” the envoy repeats, considering.

Diana can't tell if she's amused or offended. Either way would be befitting of any herald of the gods. This back and forth in her mind on whether the envoy is in fact an envoy or not is becoming confusing. Leisurely, the envoy leans in a little more and flashes her a smile that nearly disarms her. It is equal parts confident and suave and its self-awareness of its effects gives it an intriguing power. She finds her eyes drawn to the envoy's lips. Her smile is dismantling. 

She has smooth, light skin and green eyes that darken to deep forest green in the dim lighting, the color of Artemis' wilds beneath silver moonlight. Her eyes are evergreen boughs trapped in snowfall. Her hair is spun of morning side and it brings an alluring heat to her gaze. If there existed fire nymphs, Diana is sure one sits before her now.

“In Hebrew, fleet is Qal,” the envoy says. “I'm fine with that.” 

“Kal.” Diana tries out the name, slightly mispronouncing it. She gives an apologetic smile and shakes her head. “Forgive me. I have recently met someone named Kal. I don't think I can call you that. It does not feel right for you.” 

“Okay, then. You pick something that feels right.” 

After a moment's thought, Diana asks, “Let me ask first. Why Burn Bright?” 

The envoy's lips quirk and her eyes light with fire and heat. She is powerful and disarming despite the last lingering sweetness of soft adolescence that still clings stubbornly to her fine features. The woman beneath all of that is striking and beautiful.

“Your eyes,” the envoy says. “Even in this shit lighting, they burn bright like fire.”

Diana smiles. Ah. It's a name that is not a name, but rather an association, a key component of a compliment, excised from the whole to serve as a name. She gives a nod. She thinks she understands tonight's rule of names now.

“If I am Burn Bright, then you are Morning Side,” she says and reaches across the table to finger some of the hair tucked behind the envoy's ear and curling beneath the pierced, but earring-less earlobe. Her voice is soft and trails. “Apollo in your hair and Artemis in your eyes...”

The envoy is silent and remains motionless. She lets Diana admire as long as she wishes. A few strands come away with her fingers slipping through them to settle against the soft skin of her cheek and Diana finally retracts her hand. 

“Burn Bright and Morning Side. We sound good together.” The envoy considers the names and gives a nod of approval. “We look good together.”

With a small shake of her head and her smile lingering to soften her words, Diana says, “I did not leave home to find someone to look good with.”

“But you don't disagree,” Morning Side says. 

They exchange weighted looks, one of sharpened expectation traded for one of polite reticence. Diana can see that whatever she answers, Morning Side has already made up her mind about it.

“No, I don't disagree,” she says, finally. “We do complement well next to each other.” 

The smile Morning Side gives her at this is brilliant, genuine in the pleasure it derives from the admission, and breathtakingly honest. It disarms Diana and leaves her reeling. It takes her a second too long to realize Morning Side is leaning closer and extending a hand to her. 

“Well, Burn Bright,” Morning Side says. “I'm pleased to meet you.”

Diana slips her hand in hers and shakes it, returns the smile, and says, “I am pleased to meet you as well, Morning Side.”

Kate holds on to her hand a bit longer, studying her up close. Burn Bright is a bit younger than the twenty-five Kate originally thought. She's closer to her own age, but she doubts younger than twenty. It puts her around the right age to be a foreign exchange student. Maybe NYU. Maybe Syracuse. It wouldn't surprise her if she were sent to school here by an impressive family back home. Wherever home is. She wants to ask, but doesn't. Details that can later be used to track identities would defeat the purpose of anonymity. 

“How long have you been in New York?” Kate asks. 

“I am here visiting with a friend,” Burn Bright tells her, the air between them thinning now into something more casual. “She is a professor. She was invited to speak at the university.” 

“Is this professor friend of yours aware you're out bar crawling at this time of night being hit on by strange women?” Kate asks.

“She is sleeping. I did not want to wake her..” Burn Bright looks at her curiously and says, “You think yourself a strange woman?”

“I think myself hitting on you,” Kate says. 

The way Burn Bright regards her now is nothing less than cautionary interest. She relaxes in her chair now, posture smoothing out and shoulders loosening. It's not a dramatic change in demeanor, but it is noticeably warmer, engaging. Burn Bright angles herself toward her more. 

“'Hitting on.'” She considers the phrase and then says, “'Like 'coming on to'. Similar sound. Similar meaning?”

“Exact same meaning, actually.” 

“We are only talking. How would I know when talking is talking or 'hitting on'?” 

Burn Bright's eyes focus on her now, a spark of knowing in their ocean blue. Kate knows when a woman is oblivious and when she's not. This woman, right now, is being coy. Kate's young, not inexperienced. It makes Kate smile. She's enjoying where this conversation is going.

“Believe me. You'd know,” Kate directs her attention across the way with a nod and says, “If I were, I'd have you up against the make out wall next to those couples ” 

Burn Bright only spares the wall and its couples a cursory glance over her shoulder before returning to the table. 

“And that is why women come here. Why you came here,” she says, settling her gaze once more on Kate. “To seek the company of another woman?”

“Yes, and what I found is you.” 

Burn Bright doesn't look away, so neither does Kate. She places her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand, letting out a half smile. She stubbornly holds the smile when Burn Bright's eyes intensify. Kate has never run away from anything yet. She sure as hell isn't going to run away from the heated gaze of a beautiful woman. 

Before Diana can respond, something catches Morning Side's eye behind her and she reaches over to take her hand. She leans close, scooting her chair a little until their knees touch beneath the table and kisses her knuckles. It surprises Diana and she remains still, keeping eye contact as Morning Side lifts her free hand to brush a few strands of hair from the curve of her jaw. 

“You've got some admirers,” Morning Side says, her fingers brushing Diana's cheek. “I'm just letting them know you're taken.”

Her words are low and hang in the air by her lips. Diana wets her lips. She watches the way Morning Side admires her, appraising in a way. The last woman who did this so brazenly with her was scared off by one frank discussion with Hippolyta about her intentions. Since leaving Themyscira, all blatant appraisals have come from men and none so far have succeeded in not offending her. 

Diana likes the appreciation she sees in Morning Side's eyes. Her gaze is reverential instead of vulgar. Her touch is respectful instead of entitled. Morning Side's attentions make her feel noticed in a way she hasn't felt in a long time. It isn't the look of wonder from admiring strangers. It's a look of interest, of magnetism. Tonight, she is not an amazon princess or a potential inductee to this league of heroes. She does not have to be a wonder. Right now, beneath Morning Side's quiet gaze, she is Diana designated Burn Bright. That is all she has to be. She indulges in the simplicity of it.

“So you have made claim on me then?” Diana asks her, leaning into the soft touches along her cheekbone. She doesn't miss the way it makes the wilds in Morning Side's eyes darken slightly.

“To everyone else in this bar, yes,” Morning Side tells her. “I have.” 

Diana feels the breath warm on her cheek and the thumb rubbing tender circles on the back of her hand. She reaches up to still the fingers gently scraping along the side of her face and leans to lightly brush their cheeks to whisper near her ear.

“It is not easy to claim me,” she whispers. “Few women have been able to say with confidence that she has.”

Morning Side turns her head until her lips graze Diana's ear and then her cheekbone where her fingers ghosted earlier. She lifts her free hand and touches along her chin. Then her thumb brushes her bottom lip and her eyes drop to watch how it traces the length of it. 

“Careful there.” Her wildlife eyes flick back up to Diana's and she says, “That almost sounds like a challenge and I'm not one to back down when challenged.”

Then she pulls away, putting distance between them, and retrieves her hand back to her side of the table, leaving Diana motionless, still held captive by her touch. 

“They've stopped looking,” Morning Side says and her smile is one of mischief. “You're a free woman again.”

Diana affords her admirers only a quick glance over her shoulder just in time to see a few women on stools at the bar turning back around, grumbling to themselves. She returns her attention to their conversation.

“How quickly you relinquish your claim over me,” she tells her.

Morning Side grins and says, “Now, you're just goading.”

It makes Diana pause. She's correct. She is goading. She wants Morning Side to react because she's curious. No, that's not accurate. It's because she likes Morning Side's reactions. There's a small regret inching up passed her diaphragm that reminds her that she doesn't know her name and will probably never see her again after tonight. Morning Side pushes her chair back as she stands. She offers a hand, palm up, gazing down at her, her dizzying confidence so dense Diana can almost feel it radiate like a ray of warmth. 

“I'll walk you back to your hotel if you'd like.” 

Morning Side's voice carries no premature assumption on how this night will end. Diana can see whether she accepts the offer or not is of no consequence to her. She's offered her hand and Diana is free to take it or leave it. There is something fascinating about this combination of respectful confidence and searing apathy. In her short time in patriarch's world, everyone she has interacted with has either loved her or hated her for who she is, for what she can do, and for what she stands for. Everyone always has a firm stance with her, everyone except this woman.

“I would like, thank you.”

Diana slips her hand in Morning Side's and lets her pull her to her feet.

-

The frozen New York night threatens chills, but Kate is used to the biting cold and Burn Bright doesn't seem to notice it at all. She has left the peacoat open, giving Kate enough of a glimpse beyond the hanging ends to see the shape and build of her body. Burn Bright is an attractive woman of substance and presence and she carries herself like she knows it, appreciates it, but never wrongly utilizes it. There is something attractive about her self-awareness and the level of comfort she has with herself. Burn Bright is devastatingly sexy and painfully indifferent to the fact. 

Snow hasn't fallen yet and any flurries melt as soon as they touch the ground. It makes the streets damp and that much colder. Their conversation has come to a short pause while Burn Bright ponders a thought that has occurred to her. They walk closely now with hands in the pockets of their coats. Kate's fingers wrap around the gloves she'd shoved in her pockets earlier while she lets Burn Bright work through the thoughts.

“And this kind of arrangement satisfies you?” Burn Bright asks, genuinely curious. She turns her head to look at her. “Do you never wish for something more?” 

“Yes, it does and of course, I do.Who doesn't want to fall in love and live happily ever after?” Kate asks. “I just don't want to right now. I have goals to accomplish, plans to pursue. I can't afford distractions. When that's all done, then I'll think about love and romance and whatever else.” 

Burn Bright makes a small noise as if in thought while she ponders this. 

“I see,” she says, rather mysteriously. “So until all your goals and plans are accomplished, it is pick ups in establishments like that for you to satiate needs.”

Kate can't help the laugh that flutters out in the cold, crisp night air. As they walk side by side, the glistening icicles above encase them and the world around in a still intimacy filled with her laughter. 

“Hook up,” she corrects. “It's called a hook up. The result of hooking up with a stranger is called a one night stand. And yeah, I think that about sums it up.”

Burn Bright takes the correction with acceptance and grace and nods her head while she process the new information. 

“You go to a bar and hit on a woman,” Burn Bright says, each new phrase carefully pondered before placed it is appropriate slot in the sentence structure, “to pick her up so you can hook up for a one night stand.” 

The way she looks at Kate now for approval is weaponized for the kill, target Kate's heart. It's so stinking precious. Burn Bright silently awaits a grade with an expectant look on her face and Kate briefly reconsiders her anonymity policy. She wants to know Burn Bright's name and ask for her phone number. She wants to have more conversations like this. She dips her head with a self-critical smile, scolding herself. 

“Hey, look at you, picking up English so quickly,” Kate tells her and then dares to reach up to pat the top of Burn Bright's head. “I'm super proud.”

She thinks she sees Burn Bright blush. Well, even if she's wrong, she'll still say she did. When they resume walking, Burn Bright wraps an arm around Kate's elbow. It makes Kate glance at it and the weight of her hands resting on her arm is comfortable. Burn Bright looks as if walking like this is the most natural thing and questioning it would be silliness. So Kate doesn't.”

“I can relate to goals and plans. I have a mission too,” Burn Bright says. “There will be time to think of other things after that mission is complete.” 

“Well then, Burn Bright,” Kate says and chuckles. “It looks like it''s 'pick ups' in strange bars for you as well.”

The silence is weighted, but not awkward as the implication settles between them. Burn Bright lifts a hand to tuck stray strands behind her ear before replacing it on Kate's arm where it had been resting. 

Quietly, she says, “It would seem so.”

Diana appreciates that Morning Side waits for her to continue, as if she can see something that needs voicing is bothering her, but she is unsure how to say it. It had been a small joke, Diana knows, the both of them settling for liaisons without attachments and its insinuation, but it makes her wonder.

“Should you return then?” she asks, hesitantly, even though she is enjoying the company and the lovely walk. “I remember where the hotel is. I will be fine.” 

“No, I'm good.” Morning Side says. “If I was going to luck out tonight, it would have happened already, you wouldn't have learned so many useful terms tonight, and we wouldn't be walking like this.”

“I am sorry to interfere.”

“Don't be. You didn't. Besides, I said I'd walk you and I always make good on my word.”

There is something gallant about this nonchalance. Morning Side does as she pleases and doesn't apologize for it, but what she does has an underlying consideration and is guided by a sense of integrity. She is a woman of action, a woman of her word. There is an air of ease around her even though Diana can see how she stealthily monitors their surroundings. An untrained eye would never catch her doing it. 

“But will you not be lonely tonight?” Diana wants to know. “You had reason to be there. At that place.”

They come to a stop and Morning Side shakes out her shoulders to loosen them, causing Diana to release her hold on her elbow. When she's settled. Morning Side holds her elbow at a small telltale angle until Diana slips her arm through once more. Then she tucks her elbow at her side, drawing Diana closer. 

“Don't worry about me,” she says. “I don't get lonely easily.” 

From the corner of her eye, Kate can see the hotel Burn Bright had said she was staying a block away. Their time tonight is winding down. The branches of the small, suffocated trees pepper the cement sidewalk in a neat line. They are encased in ice that refract and reflect the street lights, taking on different hues when the traffic lights change color overhead. The rest of the walk down the block is quiet and still, but strangely comfortable.

Kate brings them to a stop at the crosswalk across from the Hotel lobby and untangles their arms. She presses the button on the post at the corner and then shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket once more. A group of college aged friends come to stand beside them waiting for the light and across the street some inebriated business manage to open the lobby doors. 

The way Burn Bright looks at her now is not curiosity or concern. It's not desire or want or even hope. It's more like an unspoken wishing, but for something that is not necessarily selfish. Kate can't quite place it. Considering the last thing she said and the sight of the hotel across the street, it makes her feel brave enough to pull her hand from her pocket and reach across the distance between them to take Burn Bright's. 

Burn Bright watches her silently as Kate leads her from the others to an alley nearby, far enough down where the shadows hide from view, but not so far the open street and the hotel could not be seen. She pulls closer to the brick wall and answers Burn Bright's question with more honesty without the ears of others listening.

“I might feel lonely later, but I've never felt the least alone than I have tonight and all we did was walk and talk,” she says. “To me, that's worth more than a little bit of loneliness.”

She flashes Burn Bright a smile and watches a small shadow creep its way into her eyes so bright. It makes Kate rethink the last half of their walk, hypothesizing. 

“What about you? Should you go back?” she asks, testing her theory in words. “Will you be lonely tonight?”

She watches Burn Bright's lips part to take a breath, watches when she gazes so calmly at her before she says, “No, Morning Side. I don't think I will either.” 

It's rare Kate ever feels her age. She'd grown up fast, had always had her sight set on who she needed to be that she never related to others her age. Right now, she doesn't feel like that. She doesn't feel like the West Point cadet who is top of her class, who applied to the academy the day she turned seventeen. Nor does she feel like the yearling who'd bested the First Captain in marksmanship and command leadership in small unit ops. Beneath Burn Bright's gaze, she feels like the eighteen year old she is; young, impulsive, emotional, and wanting only to feel close to someone else in a way that is just for them. 

Her hands reach passed the open ends of Burn Bright's peacoat and then rest on the belt that lies just beneath. She dares to step closer until their hips are touching, monitoring Burn Bright's perfect face for any sign of rejection, any hint that what she does is unwanted. Burn Bright merely watches her, tilting her head to keep eye contact. Fuck. She could fall hard and fast for this girl if she isn't careful.

Kate leans into Burn Bright and touches her lips to hers. 

Diana has kissed before, but never like this, never with someone she'd just met, never with someone she didn't know. There were never new people to meet on Themyscira and her mission has taken precedence since she'd left its shores. There is something compelling in this innocent kiss Morning Side gives her despite all the unknowns of each other. Intimacy has always been something closely tied to knowing before, to how long she'd known someone and how much they've shared with each other. 

This kiss is different and Diana will remember it. In the years to come she will be kissed by many others, will kiss a few herself, but none of them will rival the surprising intimacy and connection of this one with this stranger. She kisses her back and for an unknown length of time, it's all they do. It's all that exists. 

The group of friends waiting at the corner have long since crossed the street when Morning Side pulls away slightly, hands gripping the ends of Diana's peacoat as she tips her head down to take a breath. Diana's eyes remain closed. She swallows dry air. She contains the sigh collecting at the back of her throat and forces herself to breathe as well.

“I just needed to know what that'd feel like before we go our separate ways,” Morning Side says somewhere near the dip of her collarbone where her words are collecting like dew drops of yearning. It almost sounds like an apology.

It makes Diana's eyes open now and she watches bereft of words as Morning Side slowly draws the ends of the peacoat together and buttons it up for her. She fixes the collar beneath her hair, gently pulling the dark waves from beneath and laying them gently before smoothing her shoulders. The last thing she does is take the ends of the coat's belt dangling from the loops at her waist and ties it snug. 

“If you go now, you can still catch the walk sign,” Morning Side says, stepping away from her. Her hands find her pockets again. She gives Diana the smile she finds so arresting, the smile whose memory of Diana will cherish for years to come.

“Nice meeting you, Eyes-That-Burn-So-Bright,” she says and turns to head toward the other end of the alley that leads to the opposite side of the block. 

Diana breathes and watches her go. 

“You as well, Hair-Spun-Of-Morning-Side.” 

Continued…


	2. The Affinity of Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10.26.19
> 
> I've written myself into a corner that's taken me a month to dissect. There may be some edits and small changes (and frak me and my typos) to the first two chapters to get myself out of said corner. Maybe. New job, lots of training, new job hours, and lots more work hours leaves not enough time for Red Wonder-ing.

**West Point, 2005**

Kate starts the second half of her second year at West Point cocky and focused. The night at the dive in New York is a fond memory, but a memory nonetheless. She is reminded of it sometimes, images mostly, hair that curls and falls in waves, eyes that shine, a full bottom lip, and a cheek smooth to the touch and bronzed from the sun. Sometimes, she wonders what became of Burn Bright, but then life becomes too busy and she 

She is assigned a new roommate. Her name is Sophie Moore. She has a lovely skin tone that is rich and warm against Kate's pale and her hair is dark like Burn Bright's. Kate is finding that, for her, regarding women who catch her interest, the darker the hair, the better. She's starting to discover her type. 

Sophie is confident and headstrong. She has the body and build of a boxer and the twinkle toes to match. Their first time in the ring, Sophie out maneuvers her, but it takes two of her hits to equal one of Kate's. 

“It's that damn agility of yours. Your feet are two moves ahead of the rest of you, makes your momentum go the opposite direction of your fist,” Kate tells her when Sophie asks how she manages to hit so hard. “Stick your feet. At least long enough to throw a decent punch, anyway.” 

At this, Sophie only angles her head and smiles at her. She squirts water from her bottle in her mouth and swallows. 

“All right then, Candy Cane. You teach me how to stick. I'll teach you how to slick,” she says and then offers a hand, knuckles still wrapped in white tape. 

Kate grins and shakes the offered hand.

“Deal.”

-

After several mutual lessons and getting the morning routine down pact, after a few lingering looks from both sides and some suggestive jokes, Kate takes that same hand and yanks Sophie close instead. Sophie says nothing. Kate stares. Then she releases her and steps away, heading out the door. No distractions, she tells herself. You have a purpose. You're here for a reason. Don't fuck up now.

She walks into the lounge where a few other cadets hang about in small groups, engaged in their own conversations. A few play a game of pool in the far right corner and to the left are the sofas and flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. It almost always is playing the news, though it depends on who arrives first whether its left or right wing. The TV is playing shaky amateur footage of destruction and debris. Another meta human fight, Kate bets. 

“Featured in this video recorded by a witness is a new meta human right out of Boston. From what we can tell, she's like a female Superman. She's seen here battling what looks like a woman with metal wings. I'm being told right now the woman with wings is called the Silver Swan.”

Kate starts toward the door on the opposite side of the lounge when she catches sight of her, Burn Bright, from the corner of her eye on the screen. She pauses to watch. The footage loops to the beginning where something large and moving too fast to track crashes into the earth, kicking up dirt and concrete. 

When the dust clears, standing in the center of the small crater is the woman from the bar in New York. Kate watches the screen in stunned silence. What the hell is Burn Bright doing on the news? And what in the world is she wearing? Burn Bright is dressed in an armored breastplate and blue leather skirt. Her shoulders and arms are well defined, strong. Kate knew she'd felt something under that peacoat. Doesn't look like she really needed Kate to save her from that stranger. 

On screen, Burn Bright is focused above her, at whatever just threw her down, but she's unscathed, unhurt, and the waves in her hair is just a Kate remembers. 

Kate is inching toward the TV watching. Yes, it has to be Bright Burn. She's wearing the strange metal cuff bracelets that Kate had only glimpse briefly beneath the cuff of her sleeve. On the screen Burn Bright's eyes focus and she prepares herself with a small bend of her knees. Then she's off, gone, flying straight up and out of frame. The camera is too slow to track and has to zip around to find her again just in time to see her cross her arms in front of herself to weather the Silver Swan's sonic scream. 

Holy shit. She's a meta human. 

“We're receiving several conflicting tips on who this strange new super woman is. Supergirl has been quoted as saying she's not Kryptonian. Green Lantern confirms she's new on the scene and not from space,” the reporter says. “Whoever she is, I guess we're all just left to wonder in every sense of that word.” 

When the story concludes and the reporter returns the cameras to the anchorman and anchorwoman, they both flash their nauseating fake smiles as they chat for a second before moving on to the next story.

“And what a wonder she is. Right, Karen?” The anchorman says, turning toward his cohost. 

“You've got that right, Allen. She definitely is a wonder.” The anchorwoman smiles at him and then at the camera. “A wonder woman.” 

The joke is lame and none of the cadets laugh. It certainly doesn't warrant the level of laughter the anchorman lets out before the camera switches to just him and he starts the next story. Low and behold though, in the days that follow, the damned name sticks. Suddenly, Burn Bright is everywhere. She's in every newspaper, every magazine, and every daytime talkshow and evening news program. Wherever she goes, she is crowded by flashing cameras and microphones shoved in her face. 

At first, an older woman is usually beside her, warding off reporters. Ah, Kate thinks. The professor friend she mentioned. A month goes by without an appearance and the articles now wonder where this new hero disappeared to. When she resurfaces, her constant companion has changed to a dashing young man, a sailor with the US Navy, who has an All-American smile to match his blonde hair and baby blue eyes. Kate listens for this name. 

Trevor, he's called. Chief Petty Officer Steven Trevor, allegedly saved by Burn Bright when he crashed on her island of warrior women, amazons. _Actual_ amazons. Kate scoffs at the comic book story of it all. Of course, it would be a man, and of course, it would be one who looks like he farts apple pies and bald eagles.

Well, no skin off her back. She still stole a kiss from not just a wonder woman, but apparently _the_ Wonder Woman. Bruce and Chief Petty Officer Pretty Boy here can suck it.

-

**An unknown Missile base in Nowhere, Utah**

They came to the Kapatelis house to apprehend her and they had two tanks, two police squads, and a fire team of soldiers, taking cover behind their vehicles on the street, all weapons pointed at the front door. Julia had told Diana to stay inside, opened her front door, and fearlessly stepped out onto the stoop to fuss at the man holding the megaphone.

“Just hand us the Wonder Woman, Mrs. Kapatelis, and no one has to get hurt.” 

“I'll hand her over when this country stops being the land of the free and the home of the brave!” 

The posturing on both sides was ridiculous to Diana and finally she opened the door and joined Julia on the stoop outside. Every man immediately straightened to attention, chambering bullets and renewing their line of sight, but it was Steve who stepped out from the barricade of vehicles into the open with his hands empty and held where they can see them. Steven Trevor who had traveled with her from Themyscira to Portland, where she had bid him goodbye a few months ago. 

“Hey, angel. Remember me?”

It was Steve who deescalated the situation and convinced Julia that it was best Diana cooperated with the newly developed Metahuman Tactical Response Unit, the small military off-shoot that will later develop into the Department of Metahuman Affairs. It was Steve who promised Julia that Diana would be safe.

“And I mean it,” Julia says, eyeing him suspiciously with her lips in a thin, dissatisfied frown. “Not one disgusting look or word from any of you boys in her direction or I'll be hunting you down.” 

A weak smile. “I owe her my life, ma'am, and I _will_ return the favor.” 

Julia eyed him a few minutes longer and then nodded her approval. She gave Diana a tight, lasting hug. 

“The minute you think it's not safe, you get yourself out of there, Diana, you hear me? You come right back here. Understand?”

Diana had nodded. “Yes, Julia. I understand.”

“Good.”

Then Julia stepped away and Diana followed Steve across the lawn to the armed men awaiting her. The next few days they travelled until the lush green trees gave way to flat grasslands and then to scorched thirty earth, hot, sandy and barren to a cold facility of colorless concrete and cement where the interviews began.

-

Immediately, Diana knew not to trust General Tolliver. There is something about the way he holds himself that feels off, somehow unnatural. When he asks her questions, his tone carries an unvoiced accusation. He does not ask why she is here. He does not care for her purpose for coming or her mission to stop Ares. He asks only about the amazons. 

How many of you are there? What is the structure of your military forces? Your troops are armed with what kind of weaponry? Are all amazons as strong and impervious as you seem to be? Have all of you mastered the ability to fly? 

Diana gives him answers that are not answers until his questions become more specific, more suspicious. Then she does not answer at all. Frustrated with her silence, Tolliver stands from the folding chair and flings it against the wall behind him. The loud clatter echoes in the near empty room and his officer's aide, Etta Candy, jumps at the sound. 

“Half rations for the next three days. Maybe a little hunger will make her talk,” he spits before banging on the door to be let out.

When he's gone and it is just the two of them in the room, Etta stands from the small desk where she had been transcribing on a government issued laptop. She bends to pick up Tolliver's chair and gently places it back at the table before smoothing her skirt beneath her as she takes a seat. 

“Don't worry,” Etta tells her beneath her breath. “No one's going to halve your meals. Steve would throw a fit if I allowed that.” 

Diana looks at her, not only at the mention of Steve, but also because Etta smiles at her as if they are old friends and she finds the warmth of it comforting. Etta has a calm, steady presence, an inner warmth, the same kind Diana felt in Julia and Steve. 

“I'm a friend of Steve's,” she says, extending her hand. “Name's Etta. Etta Candy. And you're the princess who saved him we all swore didn't exist. Should've known better than to think Steve Trevor capable of lying.” 

Etta lets out a soft laugh that, but her voice is still low as if wary of the large mirrored wall behind them. Despite that, Diana finds her laugh soothing, a sturdy raft chanced upon in a turbulent sea. She reaches across the table and shakes the offered hand, giving it a quick squeeze before she cups it between both palms.

“I am Diana,” she says and can't help but return the smile Etta shows her. “It's very good to meet you, Etta. I am glad to have a friend in here.”

Before she withdraws her hand and leans against the back of the chair, Etta returns the small squeeze, then clears her throat and begins speaking normally. Her tone is now more distant and stoic, a detached professionalism without the air of entitled authority Tolliver exuded. It makes Diana understand that Etta does not speak on an official capacity nor as an official representative and that somehow, somewhere, others are listening, perhaps even watching. It makes Diana understand that Etta is smart and careful.

“Help me understand better, Diana. You said you were sent by your people to escort Chief Petty Officer Trevor home and to return our men for burial,” Etta says, folding her fingers together and rested them on the table. “You also said that once you leave home, it is impossible to return, right?”

“Not impossible, but very difficult,” Diana gently corrects. “Only the gods can ferry us to and from. Very rarely do you grant us passage.”

“If it's so difficult to return once you've left, then why leave at all?” Etta asks her. “Especially to play escort when he could have journeyed alone? What made you leave? What has happened in our world that brought you here and what is happening now that keeps you here?”

Diana offers a smile. None of the men have asked her this. To her, it is, perhaps, the most astute inquiry any of them have and it is the quiet, observant officer's aide who asks it. Etta watches her patiently in silence as she waits for an answer. Diana leans forward over the table now and draws in a breath. 

“The war god seeks to start a war that will destroy both my home and yours. I was sent to find him and stop him.”

The way Etta considers this is curious and Diana can see her processing the different questions she has, choosing carefully which one to pursue. Julia has taught Diana that belief in her gods has been reduced to stories, that no one actually believes them real anymore. She wonders if this is what Etta will question.

“How do you plan to accomplish either of those?” Etta asks. “Aside from the sword and shield, you've only brought a glowing rope. If he is a god of war, what can a single rope do?”

Diana is calm and her words lack self-importance when she says, “Our patrons told me the Golden Perfect is all I would need. I must trust in their judgment.”

“Well, you've got better faith than me, princess. I would have demanded a real weapon, an arsenal of weapons, and an entire army fitted for war.” Etta leans against the back of the chair and blows out a breath. “I don't like your odds one bit.”

“I admit I do not either,” Diana says with a grave nod of her head. She catches Etta's gaze and lowers her voice. “Be wary of General Tolliver, Etta Candy. There is something unnatural about him.” 

Etta sighs and says, “He's really not like that. He's paranoid as all hell, but he is not a cruel man. The past few days, though, he's been acting like someone else, someone completely different.” 

There is a short silence while Diana considers this. Her eyes flick to her reflection in the mirror and wonders if it works like Hera's viewing pool, acting as a one-way window inside this room. She wonders if the general is behind the glass right now, watching and listening to every word they say. 

Diana nods once more. “Perhaps it is because he is someone else.” 

She sees the question in Etta's eyes, but offers no further explanation, gazing instead at her reflection with razor shop focus. She is filled with the uneasy feeling that comes when a god sets his sights on her and the raw look in his eye doesn't match the deceitful words his mouth speaks. She thinks she can almost see him now through the mirror, Ares, the war god, face hidden by his massive helmet and cape spreading as the ends trail on the floor. He is smiling at her. 

She draws herself straighter in her chair and stares back silently, defiantly. She will arm him no more with information. They will fight instead. She will defeat him or he will kill her. She has prepared herself for either outcome.

-  
**Back at West Point**

Kate is lying on her back on top of her neatly made bed, half listening to the news broadcast about the missile base commandeered by one of the US top military leaders, General Tolliver, and a few of his most loyal men. There hasn't been any developments on the story, but Kate wants to be fully informed tomorrow for the inevitable discussion they'll have about this in class. 

At the moment, she is holding up a newspaper clipping that has a candid photo of the newly christened Wonder Woman and is studying the picture. There's no mistaking it. It's the same woman she met that night. Wonder Woman is Burn Bright. In the photo, Wonder Woman looks mildly surprised, as if the photographer caught her attention somehow and snapped it as soon as she looked. She's still gorgeous. Those shoulders. The picture doesn't do her justice. The light in her eyes doesn't come through in the dot matrix black and white. They aren't nearly half as captivating as they actually are. Pity.

The door to the room opens and Kate drops her hand and rolls over on her side to look. Sophie's amused as Kate scrambles to sit up and chuckles when she closes the door softly behind her. 

“I interrupting anything?” she asks, walking over. “I can come back in fifteen if you and that photo want to be alone a little longer.” 

Kate scoffs and swings her legs over of the side of her bed. She glances at the article in her hands and then turns it so Sophie can see it when she takes a seat beside her on the bed. 

“The new meta human, the Wonder Woman,” Kate says. “I think I've met her.” 

“You know Wonder Woman?”

“I said I met her, not that I know her. Saved her from a creep in a bar.”

The grin Kate shoots Sophie is the same one she always gives after she's done something brave or incredibly reckless, like the time their TAC officer Major Kurt stepped in her space and asked her what was so damned funny and she'd said, “The prettier half of your company's been dying to know, sir. Boxers or briefs?” Seeing Kurt's cheek twitch made all the PT afterward worth it. 

Sophie lands a light punch to Kate's shoulder that makes her sway and says, “Shut up. You're lying.” 

Kate rubs where she punched and says, “I'd have a better story to tell if I were.”

“When did this happen? Where? Jesus Murphy, Candy. _How_ did it happen?” Sophie asks. “She's like impossible to pin down, not like Supes at all. He'll stick around for a sound bite or two, but Wondy's always gone before the reporters can finish a damn question. Plus she's always got that escort, what's-his-face. You know, the pretty one, the pretty blonde body guard sailor of hers who probably even shits model soldier material.”

The image both amuses Kate and rubs her the wrong way. She says, “There weren't any guys with her that night. There wasn't anyone with her. Besides, does it look like she even needs some random guy to be her body guard?”

The way Sophie's eyebrow lifts suggestively both amuses and slightly worries Kate. If she knows Sophie, and she thinks she does pretty well by now, then she knows exactly where her thoughts are going. 

“Well, she is a self-proclaimed amazon who claims to come from an island of only women...” Sophie says. “Don't suppose she said anything to confirm any of that, huh?”

Kate shrugs. She does know what people say about that, but even if she wanted to confirm or deny rumors, she couldn't confidently. One, Kate is never comfortable outing someone else, regardless of who it is and who is asking. Two, she'd never asked Burn Bright that night what her preferences is For all she knows, this island of women are all celibate nuns devoted to a pinecone.

In the background, the on-site reporter on the forgotten TV places a hand to her ear piece and takes a second to listen to the urgent update being relayed to her. 

“The topic never came up,” Kate tells her. “We only talked for a few minutes. Then I walked her back to her hotel. She was nice. Still learning the nit-picky ways of English, but it was cute in that you're-so-precious-cheek-pinching kind of way.”

“Aren't you sweet then, Candy Cane, walking her back like a true gentleman,” Sophie laughs. “Careful. If the rumors are true about her, she could have gotten the wrong idea and invited you up. Then you'd have a whole lot more to worry from Kurt than just PT.”

Kate only grins. “Discharge aside, I'd make a prettier body guard than her Ken doll, anyway.”

Sophie reaches over and takes the clipping from Kate's hand. She gazes at the newspaper clipping and her voice softens to thoughtful quiet. Kate watches Sophie silently as she looks at Burn Bright's picture, notices the subtle shift in mood. 

“If she really does go the way of the man-hating amazon, I wouldn't be surprised if she had invited you up. And she's just so pretty,” Sophie says, her voice distant with thought. “I wouldn't blame you if you'd accepted.”

Sophie finally lifts her eyes and turns to look at her. Kate knows what that look means. She has never allowed herself to notice it here, has refused to let herself notice it, but it's too late now. She's noticed. Since the alley in New York, she's remembered what a kiss feels like, how soft a woman's lips can be. She's made the mistake of remembering what that physical connection can feel like.

It's an impulse based on an assumption. They've never out right spoken about it or admitted anything to each other that would be a violation of the code of conduct, but Kate's pretty sure her assumption is correct. As far as the military is concerned, if you never ask someone else and you never tell someone else, then it never an actual truth. It's all hearsay and rumors until its spoken in words or heard in ears. All that's left is just action. Then to play that action off as a joke if it goes wrong or enjoy it if it goes right. 

Kate leans over and kisses her. The clipping slips from Sophie's fingers and floats to the floor below when she reaches up a hand to cup Kate's cheek and kisses her back. The TV flickers in the background.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, we're getting reports that General Tolliver's alleged plan for this hostile takeover is to launch a nuclear missiles strike against Afghanistan before, and I quote, 'those bastards can launch one at us first.' Tolliver is calling his plan the Ares Assault. As of now, Washington remains quiet.”_

Who was it that wrote that line? Kate wonders when she moves closer and lets her tongue glide along Sophie's lips, requesting entrance. Wordsworth? Kipling? She relishes Sophie's soft lips and the scent of her grapefruit lotion. She is oblivious to TV screen and how the reporter is nearly knocked over by a gust of wind and then blinded by a light that almost explodes from the base far behind her. Kate pulls Sophie even closer, heat seeking heat and comfort.

Browning. It was Robert Browning. He was the poet who wrote it, the line that plays over and over in Kate's mind right now. 

God's in heaven. All's right with the world.

-

**Utah, that very moment**

Diana only has enough time to rush the air from her lungs before smashing into the thick steel doors. The blow was a powerful one and nearly winded her. She sinks to her knees on the recently painted flooring and holds herself up with palms flat against the cement. She knows she is quickly running out of time. She knows across the world, every nuclear missile is being primed and calibrated for launch.

Behind her, she can hear the pounding of fists on the other side of the thick metal, her friends and allies who bravely came with her to face the wrath of a war. Perhaps foolishly, she thinks. Perhaps only to witness the moment Ares wins. Julia, Steve, and Etta, the three of them whisked away with her and dumped here in the midst of General Tolliver's men. 

Diana can hear the gunfire through the metal. She can hear their shouts. Tolliver laughs the laugh of the possessed, the laugh released of a human puppet being played with by a god, maniacal, unnatural, and sinister.

The war god strides toward her while she struggles to catch her breath and then push herself up to her feet, legs trembling with near fatigue.

“What have all the stories of old taught you about hubris, little one?” he asks her. Surprisingly, the texture of his voice is smooth, like a low hum vibrating just below the surface, implying a powerful force bides its time there. “Have not all who angered an Olympian been punished accordingly? Have you learned nothing from your history?”

He spies her from beneath his helmet with an eerie calm, like last breath of hope taken before two armies set to charge each other. Ares allows her the time to find her bearings. His questions are merely for show. The war god doesn't actually want her answers to them. He already knows the answers. 

“Tell me one thing, before I send you to Tartarus,” Ares says now. “What is it the goddesses told you when they set you on this mission? How did they sell this impossible task to you?”

“It is not impossible, Ares,” Diana says. “Peace is possible here in the world of men.”

He backhands her. The heavy armor of his gauntlet nearly tears into her cheek.

“Mankind is war, amazon.” His voice is loud and booming. “It has been bred into their nature, seared into their souls. To be human is to exist in and sow conflict.”

“I don't believe that.”

“I don't need you to believe it, child. I only need theirs.” His voice has taken on a sharpened edge made of venom. “Here. Listen. Here their war song.”

With a hand raised palm up and a cruel curl of his fingers, he brings forth the flames that funnel all the hatred of the world into one place to fan and fuel itself. She can hear them, all of them. Diana can hear all the angry words that fly from infuriated people. Vile words that meant to lacerate. She tries to block out all the voices joining together to make the roaring of the fire, but she can't. Each voice serrates her heart.

A son in Mississippi comes between his father and his fallen mother with his father's gun in his hands. He will not let him hit her again. Across the world, a woman still veiled in her Hijab is buried to her neck, surrounded by every man in her village, all holding rocks the size of her their fists. The blame and vitriol that follow the bombs in Karbala, Iraq only adds to the existing feud between Suni and Shiite muslims. Militant factions in Sudan, terrorist attacks in Madrid, Catholics and Protestants in Ireland are cautious when they walk down the street, not wanting to be the next broken body left in the road. In the background, the roar of the flames around her is made of all these voices and their words. 

“This is the nature of man, Diana,” Ares says with calculated words spun from the smooth silver of his tongue. “They distrust the stranger. They beat the stranger. They rile others to help hate the stranger.” 

So many wars, so many reasons to hate, so many ways to make that hate known. The flames singe and blister her skin. Diana is overwhelmed. She is weeping. The flames are so hot she can feel her skin blistering and her heart is in pieces inside her. It's too much. It hurts too much. The suffering, the grief, the unbearable hurt left in wake of hatred. It all hurts her too much. 

“All this world needs is a spark to set it ablaze and then all shall be disciples of war. There will never be this peace you seek as long as strangers exist.”

He is too strong. She cannot stop Ares. He is a god. What can she do against a god? She crumples and the flames swallow her whole. 

Ares' laughter joins the roar of voices and fire. On her knees, Diana touches her forehead to the heated ground. Her hands are balled into fists resting above her head and tears stinging her eyes. She can feel herself dying. She can feel her heart giving up.

My goddesses, my patrons, I have failed you. 

The sound of flapping wings cut through the cruel laughter. The voices and flames vanish in an instant and all that is left is the hollow digesting darkness. Diana lifts her head only in time to see the owl flash by, a delicate feather detaches from its plumage. The feather catches an air current and slowly sails toward her, gently drifting down, into her cupped and trembling hands. 

“My lady, Athena, what can I do?” she asks with a voice that quivers, her head lowering in shame. “What can I do?” 

What can she do? What can Diana do? 

Her five patrons entrusted her with this mission. They blessed her with the gifts to accomplish it. There is a reason to all of this. She has to trust in that reason. Her patrons chose Diana to fight Ares so it will be Diana who confronts him.

She rises. 

Ares spins to look at her, his cape making a dramatic sweep across the concrete flooring. His ire that she is not yet defeated shows in the way his growl rumbles through the room. The venomous cacophony of that fills her ears intensifies. Child soldiers in Sudan. Pimps who don't care how young she is as long as she can work. Gangsters in Gotham who profit off the innocent. The fires blaze around her and she challenges the wicked flames to come near her if they dare. 

This time, Diana welcomes the hurt into her heart. She focuses on the voices of the mourners, on one's left behind, the ones who grieve because of love and loss. She embraces the love and feels through the loss, all of it, right along side every single stranger across the globe who weeps this moment, all strangers to each other, to her, all still connected in this moment. 

He's wrong. He doesn't know. He's never learned.

Diana learned months ago in a frozen New York alley that two strangers can share a compelling intimacy, two strangers can forge a connection in one single moment that will forever leave a thumbprint on their hearts. 

This is what she feels now, connected to all these people, strangers to her. She peels back the hatred and finds the grief beneath. Diana lets the grief flow through her for grief is just another face of love. 

She feels a warmth beneath her. A soft gold light first peeks out in the darkness and then takes a step forward, growing bolder by the second. The Golden Perfect, the once-girdle forged into Hestia's endless halo of flames, glows a perfect golden at her side. Diana draws comfort in the warm embrace of Hestia's sacred fire that burns within the Perfect, that fuels the warmth of that cold New York memory and the memory gives her strength.

“You're wrong, Ares. I know you're wrong,” she says and stands through the fatigue in her muscles. She unlatches the Perfect from her side and snags his wrist. “Let me show you.” 

Diana focuses on the memory of Morning Side. Her wildlife eyes, her hair made of sun sleepy sun rays, her disarming smile. She brings forth all the sensory details she can of their walk. The way the ice covered the tree branches in crystalline cocoons that reflected the street lights. The way their breaths misted as they spoke. How soft her lips were and the warmth of her tongue when Diana parted her lips and let her in. She remembers the want she felt that night. She wanted more, more of this, more of that moment and that kiss, a stranger's kiss. 

She surrounds herself with this memory and these what ifs and drowns him in it alongside her. It is a truth as fundamental as love and war. Two strangers can come together on a cold winter's night in tenderness and leave each other forever changed. 

“Child, I am older than you can fathom. I have seen men greater than you pledge whole nations to me, to war, to regain a lifetime's worth of intimacy far deeper than this speck of dust you show me,” Ares says, pulling his lassoed wrist and dragging her with it. 

She can feel the scorching heat engulf her. The walls of the silo are melting all around her, the Perfect glows red like heated iron, and there is a horrible crackle as the skin of her palms crisps and curls, exposing flesh that sizzles. She grits her teeth, shuts her eyes, and holds tighter. 

“What is it one hundreds of years too young can ever hope to teach me, a war god who will blink only twice before you are but a memory of this world?” 

Ares flings her like an orca playing with a kill. There are explosions with the force of a thousand grenades detonating all around her, but she cannot let the Perfect go, not even to bring her braces up to protect herself. It feels like being flayed, like each blast excises its pound of flesh from her body. 

“You, who does not know even know that what lights a path to love is the same spark that leads to a path of hate, to war? Why else do you think my beloved Aphrodite and I commune so well? Why else but that we are one, inexplicably tied, equals in power and influence? Where one goes, the other will always follow.” 

“You are not equals with love,” Diana says, through her teeth, but her legs finally fail her.

She falls to the floor, glowing bright and threatening to melt into lava even as she crumples against it. Her hands are growing too tired to hold on any longer. Against the floor, she wraps the Perfect around her wrist so she doesn't have to. 

“What is it men go to war for, Ares?” Diana is shouting because it all hurts too much. “Do they go for the sake of war? Or do they go because they love a nation, a power, a person, themselves, their lives? Even if it is for war, it is because of a love for war?!”

“Enough!”

His anger rumbles all around and the walls can no longer support the ceiling above her and it crumbles and tumbles down on upon her. She struggles beneath the weight of the rubble, choking on dust, and fighting the flames for oxygen to fill her lungs. Her eyes burn with hot tears and makes one last plea to reach him

“What is the worship of mortals but just another face of love? What emotion does not start first with love?!”

The fires are too much now. The warmth of her memory has turned to grief. Hurt too often grows in the footprints Aphrodite leaves behind. 

She doesn't mean for it to happen. It is not something she wishes to share, nor something she wishes to even acknowledge, but she feels the Perfect transfer it to him anyway. For as long as it connects them, Diana is forced to face with him and before him the curious loneliness that followed her meeting with Morning Side. It is a deprivation of something unknown, a mourning of a possibility never given the chance at life. In its stead, a dreadful wonder was born. 

What if there had been more with Morning Side? What if fate had brought them up to that moment and they had not recognized it, hadn't finished what had been set up for them? Had they unknowingly forsaken something wonderful?

She feels shamed and selfish for having wondered such things. She feels diminished and small, so much less than what her goddesses had intended her to be. Diana bites back the tears, but fails. It's only when she hears the sizzle of one that falls to the hot floor that she releases the flames are growing quiet. She peers up, still trapped beneath concrete and plaster, too weak to lift the mass to free herself, and she sees Ares standing still above her. His wrist is still caught in the Perfect. From this angle, his helmet cannot his the look on his face. He hadn't known. _She_ hadn't known. They are both stricken with the realization. 

“You are a shadow, war god. You are just her shadow.” Hot tears blur her eyes and fall, evaporating in the super heated air. “All of us are.”

Is it her shame or his that washes through her, Diana wonders. Is it her belittled feeling? His defamation?

“Love,” he says, his voice touched with panic.

He doesn't finish his thought before a soft, iridescent unnatural glow enfolds them in its tender embrace. Diana is filled with its light and comforted by its love. Aphrodite's bare feet smolder on the heated cement floor and leave black charred footprints cool to the touch as she approaches them. The heavy weight of the rubble blows backward, freeing Diana and she collapses against the heated ground, chest heaving with its first large breath before breaking apart in a fit of coughs. Ares falls to his knees. 

With tender care, Aphrodite undoes the Perfect from around his wrist, coiling the slack loosely around her palm. Then she reaches over and removes his helmet.

“It's always been love, Aphrodite.” He trembles beneath her tender gaze. “Everything, since the beginning, even before Cronus and Gaea...”

“Yes, Ares,” the Lady Love says with a hushed, soothing voice. “As long as war exists, there will also remain love.”

“But war cannot go where love does not first tread. Rhea forgive me, I didn't understand. I didn't understand,” he says, repeating over and over, nearly ashamed. 

“You owe this child of amazons for you education and in return you nearly took her life,” She affords him a look of disapproval and holds his cheek in her palm. “That cannot be so easily forgiven.” 

“So be it then,” he says. The entire silo shuts down and the power locks clamp down once more on the missiles. Ares lowers his head before Aphrodite. “War bows to Love and submits.” 

Her hands lift to cradle him against her. “And Love accepts and forgives him.” 

Diana can feel the hemorrhaging inside herself and the bones of her left arm are shattered. She has never faced a force strong to break her body until now and the pain is unlike any she has felt before. Her hands smolder with blackened skin, branded by the Perfect heated by Ares' flames. 

Aphrodite comes to her side and kneels beside her. She reaches down and smoothes the sweat matted hair from her Diana's forehead and combs it back from her temples with her fingers. At the touch, Diana lets herself collapse completely, resting her forehead against the rapidly cooling ground. She shuts her eyes as tears fall and fights sobs.

“My lady,” she says, voice breaking open prematurely. “How can I accomplish a mission of peace when you keep a place for war?” 

“A world of peace can still have a place for him, Diana,” Aphrodite says gently, regretfully. “Rest now, daughter. There will be another time for answers. For now, it's with great pride and gratitude, I send you home to mend.”

She sends her away upon the gentlest wind and when the breeze dies and it is just these two Olympians left in the blazing inferno, Ares dares to speak. 

“You chose her well. Through her weapon, I saw all her fearful capabilities,” he says, quietly. “She would make a fine goddess of love.” 

Aphrodite spies him over her shoulder and then helps him to his feet. 

“She would make a better goddess of war,” she says and helps him to his feet. “War is a servant of love now and I have valued no one's service above hers.” 

He concedes her point silently and she smiles and steps toward him, tilting her face to look at him as she cups his cheek. 

“How lucky for you I already have a war god I am quite fond of.” 

-

Diana awakens with her body still sore from mending. The eruption of noise around her is jarring and for a moment, she is disoriented, unsure where she is until she feels her mother's embrace and her familiar comforting scent envelops her. Home. Diana's heart beats with the thought. She is home.

“I prayed the gods would smile upon us,” Hippolyta says and wipes her tears before she wipes Diana's. “I prayed you would return.”

In the days that follow, Diana is swallowed by her sisters' curiosity. She is bombarded by questions and requests for audiences. She is followed wherever she ventures and her every word is awaited on baited breath.

She tells them of the world beyond the seas, of the curious transformation of meaning the labrys has undergone, of the skyscrapers that pierce the clouds and the things about the world they have discovered, studied, wonder and dream about and still seek to understand. She disgusts them with descriptions of the stench and the smog and the dreary architecture, but sparks thought and awe with stories of self-powered chariots and lands with climates with expressive moods, both good and bad. She doesn't miss the quiet melancholy that goes unaddressed when she gushes about babies and children. 

“Oh, sisters, they are so beautiful,” she says. “They see the world as it should be, as it could be. If we could only give them that world, a world they deserve.”

There are things she does not speak about. She never talks of the battle with Ares nor of her new understanding of the relationship between war and love. She has not sorted through her own thoughts and feelings on that yet. Diana does not speak of New York alleys and the smile and the kiss of a stranger. Those things are private. Those things are hers. At least until she no longer carries the heavy dread of wonder. What if it wasn't the novelty of the experience? 

No. No more what ifs. It's in the past now and she needs to focus on the present to prepare for the future. 

But what if, Diana? What if you knew her name?

It's late one night when she hears the soft knock on her door. Diana lifts the covers, but the door opens before she is able to stand and Kasia steps inside, letting it close softly behind her. She is as Diana remembers her, eternally lovely, younger than all her other sisters, and a small wave of guilt floods through Diana. Standing before her is the woman who'd let her go knowing she would never see her again. 

Except she has.

Kasia's gaze has its own magnetic pull that keeps Diana still, but she does not smile when she crosses the room. There is hurt and perhaps anger in her eyes, but her face betrays none of those feelings. With swift movements of her hands, she disrobes and leaves her gown discarded on the floor. Her skin is alabaster in the moonlight, her hair almost a lightning white. Diana sits up straighter. 

“Kasia, wait.” Diana says.

Not like this, she means to say. Not with your eyes like that, but Kasia is already on the bed, swinging a leg over Diana's to straddle her with their eyes still locked. She places Diana's hands on her bare waist and leans over to kiss her. 

“Hush now.”

The shape of her lips and the pressure of her kiss are familiar, but it is greedy and presumptive. It's a kiss that assumes Diana has not been changed by her time off shore or by her battle with Ares. Kasia means to convey a celebration that Diana has difficulty receiving. The meaning is lost in translation in the space between their lips and by the altered language of Diana's tongue. 

It's not the kiss her lips can't seem to let go. It's not the kiss she wants to feel again. Because of this, hot shame floods through Diana. She sits up straighter to be closer and apologize in the only way Kasia is able to understand right now. 

“I've missed you, Diana.” 

Diana kisses her firmer because she can't say it back in the same way Kasia meant it and this new disconnect between them makes her feel ashamed. She apologizes because she should savor Kasia's familiar presence instead of a long for the affinity she felt with a stranger.

-

**Spillkin Hill, Bristol suburbs  
Just outside Gotham, January 2006**

Jolene Relazzo knew Gotham was overdue for a seismic event. The last significant shift the old fault that runs from the north of the Appalachians and up through Gotham was over a hundred year ago and the small hiccups in the past year have been steadily growing stronger. Part of Relazzo knows something is catastrophic is imminent. That's the part of her that continued to fight other seismologists and politicians too stupid to take her warnings seriously, that continued to campaign until a mysterious foundation with a mysterious benefactor offered her a job and all the equipment she needed to monitor the fault line, the fault area, and the shifting of the tectonic plates. It's the same determination that brings her to Spillkin Hill every evening to sit on the floor of her foundation funded van with the side door opened to record readings.

This is the part of her that should have paid more attention to the unusual activity in the local population of bats the past few nights. Not that she believes in that old wives tale, but if any animal could feel an oncoming quake, wouldn't it be one that inhabits the hollows of the earth?

The other part of her has gelled into the plausible deniability that every living being has, the willful ignorance that allows day to day life to happen naturally. It's the part that says whispers quietly “but not today” and promises a tomorrow that cannot be promised. This is the part that lets her mind wander about tonight's dinner, last week's date, and whether or not she'd paid her rent on time.

Relazzo will curse this part of her, especially when the needle on her seismometer begins to panic. The data is coming fast, erratic. It blinds her for a few seconds too long while her mind processes. You idiot, Jolene. That massive earthquake due Gotham? It will be today. It's happening _now._ And Gotham might not have a tomorrow.

 

Continued…

 **Next:** 2006\. It takes a cataclysm to bring them back together and another tragedy to pull them apart again. Fate can be one cruel mistress. Attempting to covering Batman: Cataclysm, Batman: No Man's Land, and hopefully, Wonder Woman: Second Genesis.


	3. Alabaster in Moonlight pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, they meet again. And then six years after that, they meet _yet_ again. And godsdammit, they're still dancing around the obvious.

**Gotham City, 2012**

It's nearing two am when the taxi pulls up to the lobby doors. The driver's side passenger door opens and a squirrelly young man scampers out and around the car to open the other passenger door. His name is Jonah and this is only his third week on the job and he still hasn't gotten used to it. It doesn't help that he works for a well-known ambassador with the presence and poise of a Greek goddess – she _is_ still a goddess, right? – but it helps even less who she is. 

When he opens the car door, the first thing he sees is the battle-weary knee-high boot. It's soon joined with another for a matching set, quickly showcasing olive-skinned legs that go on forever. His boss steps from the car and he is reminded that who he works for; Wonder Woman, _the_ Wonder Woman, who, despite the time of night and the length of travel they'd just endured, is still nothing but radiant. He has no idea how she manages it because he's pretty sure he looks exactly as he feels; like leftover roadkill stew after big Mack truck day.

Diana smiles at him and says, “Thank you, Jonah. I appreciate how tolerant you've been of my schedule these last few weeks.” 

“I'm fine, madam ambassador. It's good work, we're doing. Worthy work,” he says with a shrug. “We'll sleep when the world is saved.” 

“The world has waited this long to be saved. I'm sure it can wait one more night.” 

She muses quietly to herself at this, but that isn't the most intimidating part of her. She is a once-princess, once-goddess, and serves on the Justice League right along side the greats like Batman, Superman, and Green Lantern. She can stop a man's heartbeat in moments in deadly combat or just by the sight of her smile. When she looks at you, instant self-important fantasies of one's chances with her romantically pop up in mind. And she's not even his type, really. 

Her eyes return to the glass lobby doors, showcasing the brightly lit lobby beyond. “Let's get checked in so you can rest.” 

“No, let's get _you_ checked in so _you_ can rest. You're the one with a million meet-and-greets tomorrow,” he tells her coming to the side of the driver who pops the hood of the trunk and begins unloading bags. While he grabs some of their bags, a quick yawn escapes his lips and he apologies. 

“Jonah, please. It's Diana,” she says. “I insist.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and hoists a few bags onto his shoulder. “Still working on that, madam – I mean, ma'am. I mean, ...miss?” 

Diana laughs but quietly shakes her head at the last one. All right, she admits it. Madam Ambassador is much more preferred to Miss. She is about to say something when a flash of red crossing the gap between buildings above them catches her attention. Her expression turns pensive. She knows a prowling cowl when she sees one, but this one is too big to be Robin and two svelte to be Jason. Curiosity gets the better of her she draws his attention with a hand soft on his shoulder.

“Leave the bags. Go check us in, Jonah,” Diana says and gravity lessens beneath her. She hovers a few feet off the ground. “I will be there shortly.”

Then she lifts into the night and is gone. He watches her disappear, still gripping too many bags for him to manage easily. One slips from his shoulder and he stumbles to catch it. It takes him five minutes too long to deliberate following her instructions or carrying her bags into the lobby. Far be it from him to disobey a directive from Diana, but he's not just going to leave her things on the curb unattended, especially since the driver has already started the engine is pulling away. He scoffs at himself and begins hauling the luggage to the lobby doors.

-

Up above, when Diana reaches the roof, she finds a woman in a bat suit leaning a shoulder against one of the large A/C units lining the back half of the roof. Her arms are folded casually across her chest and she watches Diana approach her from the other side of the roof. It gives Diana time to appraise her. Her hair is crimson, vermillion almost, and falls from beneath her cowl to her shoulders with a few loose tresses falling over an eye. Her skin rivals the alabaster moon and it makes the color of her painted lips that much more striking. 

This new Bat bears a red bat sigil on her chest, clearly affiliated with Gotham’s finest in some capacity, though how and for how long, Diana doesn't know. 

“Well, my night just got a whole lot more interesting,” the woman says. 

She flashes a smile that nearly disarms Diana with the wave of nostalgia it brings with it. A memory of a young woman, a smoky bar, and warm breath in a cold alleyway. For a fraction of a second, she nearly forgets she's supposed to respond.

“I would say the same of mine,” she says, not as composed as she would have liked with Morning Side's smile still lingering just beyond the edges of her mind. “You must be new. Batman has neglected to mention a new member of his family.”

“Perish the thought anyone operate in this city without his approval.” The woman laughs and pushes herself off the A/C unit, dropping her folded arms to offer a gloved hand. “Batwoman. Delighted to meet the one and only Wonder Woman.” 

Diana slides her hand in the kevlar glove and silently measures the strength of Batwoman's grip when she squeezes her hand mid-shake. Strong, as expected of someone with disciplined training. She surveys the red emblem on her chest and the strands of hair that blows with the wind. Too red and so fine she wonders how easily it breaks in a fight. 

“Diana, please. If I can't get my new assistant to call me Diana, then I must insist you do,” she says. “It's lovely to meet you as well, Batwoman.” 

“You look like you've seen a ghost just now. You okay there?” 

Instead of letting go, Batwoman steps forward and covers Diana's hand with her free one, sandwiching it between her own. She is close, almost too close for comfort. She has always been aware that her personal space has always been smaller than those of the world outside Themyscira so the way her awareness pinches softly at Batwoman's proximity comes a small, oddly pleasant surprise. She is not one to run away, however, and she stands her ground, and holds Batwoman's gaze. 

“Yes, I'm fine,” she says and makes no movement to free her hand. 

It's a childish game of staring almost, what happens between them now, a silly challenge to see who backs down first. She can see unspoken thoughts in Batwoman's wildlife eyes, but can only guess at what they those might be. Then, she sees the small flicker of defeat as Batwoman breaks eye contact only just, eyes falling just a fraction of an inch lower. 

Diana gently pulls her hand free and watches as Batwoman gives a gruff cough and steps around her to the edge of the roof where she tosses a quick glance down to the walkway that leads to the front lobby doors where Diana had left Jonah. The night breeze rushing up from the street below makes strands of her red hair almost float in the golden light of the lobby below her. 

She shares some of his mannerisms, Diana notices. They way they both fall silent when a conversation becomes a little too personal. How they both use that time to make observations of the situation around them before pulling the conversation in a completely opposite direction. Diana is sure, any second now, there will be a topic change. She counts the seconds.

“I heard you're here promoting your new book*. How's that going?” 

Diana smiles, winning the bet with herself. She joins Batwoman at the edge of the roof. Now it's her turn to fold her arms lightly, gazing down to note that both Jonah and her driver have dispersed, the car and the luggage with them. 

“It goes well, thank you,” she says. “How goes moonlighting with Batman?”

She almost laughs when Batwoman makes a face at this and says, “As well as anything can go with him. What's he told you about me?” 

“Surprisingly, nothing.” 

Another gruff huff. “Good.” 

“I was not aware Gotham had a Batwoman now.” She hesitates only a moment before she says, “Is he?” 

“Oh, I'm sure he's aware. I think we both know him well enough to make an educated guess on what he thinks of it.”

“You're doing this on your own?” Diana asks. “Why?”

A small silence settles on the roof around them, something oddly comforting and strangely intimate. Batwoman has not looked at her again yet and Diana watches as she lifts her head, almost like a predator that's caught the sound of easy prey somewhere in the night. She surveys the city at night for one slow minute, scanning the rooftops around them. 

“I wasn't here when Gotham needed me once,” Batwoman says, quietly, solemnly, her expression and tone suggesting a guilt a little too freshly seeded. “I won't let that happen again.”

With sharpened awareness, Diana watches her carefully. Maybe it's from the scandalous color choice of her painted lips or the smooth, lean jawline recently free of the soft padding of late adolescence, but Diana can hazard a guess of Batwoman's age. She can only be talking about one thing, one time Gotham needed more than any one person could provide, no matter how much Bruce had tried in the beginning. 

“Are you talking about the earthquake?” Diana asks her. “Of that year it was abandoned.” 

Batwoman is quiet for a moment longer than Diana finds comfortable, a feat in itself as she rarely experiences that kind of impatience these days. The woman between the cowl and the scarlet hair turns to survey the cityscape once more, eyes falling to the still-too-new buildings in the business district and the faint impressions of the uniform, cookie-cutter suburbs one could make out in the distance to the West. Gotham is flashy and new now, modern, uncharacteristic of a city its age and devoid of the appropriate architectural stylings that should illustrate its long history.

“No Man's Land,” Batwoman finally says, crossing her arms and setting her lips in a firm line. “We call it No Man's Land. And it wasn't abandoned, it was excised from the nation. A fourth of the city's population was still here when the government blew the bridges.” **

“You were lucky you were not here,” Diana says and takes a step toward her.

She stops when she sees Batwoman stiffen and the grim line of her mouth quiver with a grimace. Selfishly, part of her is surprised at the reaction. She is not accustomed to not saying the right thing, especially when she's trying, not used to someone she cannot console, and has to set Batwoman aside for a moment to process this. Her attention is brought back to Batwoman in split-second when she hears her speak again.

“It took everything I had, everything I loved, to make it back here.” Batwoman has unfolded her arms and now clutches the ends of her cape in her gloved hands. 

-

**Gotham, Dec 13, 2006**

The earthquake had ripped up the very streets that held up the city and so many citizens had been lost to the bowels of the earth. Whole districts had been reduced to rubble both in the city proper and in its surrounding suburbs. The only buildings that had withstood the quake were those built and owned by Wayne Enterprises who'd made sure to earthquake proof entire districts and sub-divisions for this very improbability. ***

The sight of the city in ruins turns Kate's stomach. She'd made it back a week after the rescue efforts were called off, three weeks after the event. Three weeks too late in her eyes. If her TAC officer hadn't been Kurt, if the major didn't have such a ridiculous grudge against her, Kate would have been here in time. She would have been part of the effort, digging in these piles of debris, looking for life ...saving life, not witnessing the end of life, as is now. 

The air is putrid with decay and the days of excavation. A few bodies had been found in this area and recently hauled away. Kate stands on the top of a large pile of rubble where a breeze catches the perspiration on her skin and dries it, leaving a chill that sinks down into the marrow of her bones. This was once the Jefferson Hotel on East Essex. It was her preferred place to end all her dates. Kate surveys the crumbling buildings that still barely stand and feels the curse curl inside her chest, a thriving, wriggling thing alive and full of hate, coiling and hissing inside her. 

This is her home, the last place that still holds good memories of her mother and her aunt, of the Waynes and Bruce, ...of Beth, of all of them still here, still alive, still happy. It's gone now. It's all gone now. There's no going home for her now. 

Cellphone towers have not yet been repaired and reception is laughable, but she still reaches into her pocket and fishes out her mobile. The screen lights up, but no calls have been logged. She hasn't been able to get in touch with anyone. Not Alfred or Bruce, not even Dick. Oh, cripes. Dick. Was he all right? How badly was Blüdhaven hit? 

Kate stares at the empty bars of connection at the top of her phone screen and curses beneath her breath. Behind her, she hears debris sliding softly against each other and before she knows it, Sophie is by her side. Despite herself, Kate can't help but feel irritated at the intrusion her presence makes in this moment. When Sophie reaches out to take her hand, she flinches and pulls away.

“Kate.” 

Sophie says her name with a tenderness that only sharpens the irritation. It's not Sophie's fault. She's only trying to be supportive. She's only worried. Kate knows this, shouldn't hold it against her. Sophie doesn't know that the comfort she is trying to give is the last thing Kate wants right now. 

Kate wants to be angry. She wants to cradle this anger and fan it into rich, obnoxious flames. She wants to let it burn so hot it makes ashes of her soul, making a paste of char and frustrated tears should anyone try to wash them it away. What Kate doesn't want is comfort. 

She should have been here. She should have been here with her family, what's left of it anyway. Should have been here for Gotham, for these people still trapped beneath the rubble under her feet. She should have saved them, some of them, anyway. She could have saved some of them. Sophie says her name again and Kate has to close her eyes and grit her teeth together. 

“Maybe you should go back, Sophie,” Kate says as calmly as she is able, but it still comes out like a half growl. “I need to be alone.” 

“I'm not leaving you alone. I'm here if you need me, Kate.” 

“That's the thing, Soph,” Kate says before she can rethink it. “I don't think I do.” 

She can almost feel Sophie's hurt like its a physical punch to the gut. She knows Sophie doesn't deserve the brush off, but there are hurts inside Kate can't let her see, has never let anyone see. There are wounds she nurtures that belong only to her and she has never been one to share them openly, has never wanted to, even if she could. 

“You shouldn't be alone like this, Kate. I'm here for you,” Sophie says, touching her arm, trying to get her attention. Kate doesn't budge, doesn't look at her. “You don't have to be alone.”

Kate sighs and turns toward her, tries to smooth the hurt with a soft smile, and tells her, “Sorry. I know you mean well and I'm grateful. I really am. I appreciate you strong-arming Kurt to give me leave and coming with me to make sure I'm all right, but I fine. Really. I've got some things I need to do and I can't do them if you're here.” 

It's not exactly as tender as she'd like to it be, but at least it sounds somewhat appreciative, girlfriend-y. Crimeny, it's been a while since she's had to worry about a girlfriend's feelings. She's almost forgotten the responsibilities involved.

“Please, Soph.” Kate frowns. “I need you to go.” 

Sophie gives her a lingering look of suspicion before she concedes with a quiet nod and says, “Okay, Kate. All right. I'll go back to the hotel and –“

“No,” Kate says with a shake of her head. “Go back to the school.”

She watches how Sophie struggles to swallow her protests and her hurt, swelling uncomfortably in her chest, causing her eyes to well. Sophie's voice comes out strangled. 

“Will I see you back at the hotel tonight at least?” 

“I don't think so.” 

Kate turns her back on her, already plotting a way down the pile of debris to head further in. She doesn't turn around to see when Sophie left, or if she even leaves at all. All Kate knows to do is come to her knees and dig where she stands. She doesn't think she'll find anything or anyone and if she does, she'll doubt they would be alive anyway. It's something she just has to do, to say that she had, that she at least tried, that she hadn't just given up. She doesn't know how long she stays there and digs, only that she does. 

By the time she returns to the hotel room, Sophie and her luggage is gone. Kate collapses on the bed, still filthy and covered in sweat and grime. She hooks an elbow over her eyes and tries to breathe. 

She should have been here. She should have been here when her city needed her, when her family needed her.

“Goddammit.” 

-

**Washington, February 20, 2006**

Her friend and colleague, Bruce Wayne, hurts. Diana knows how much it kills him to sit before his nation's congress and this review board and listen to this small handful of people discuss the fate of his city. She knows he struggles to maintain the facade of the playboy millionaire under which he must appeal to these important men and women, especially knowing how little they take him seriously. Bruce Wayne has always been a mask he's needed to protect himself so he can continue to protect Gotham, but on this important day, it is perhaps the knife that will kill it instead. 

Diana must be objective. She knows after all the corporations pulled out of Gotham, the city was left with no financial means to rebuild itself, a feat so massive, Wayne Industries is incapable of doing it alone. For Gotham to survive, it needs the aid of the Federal government, but no one, not the members of this board, not the general public, perhaps, not even some of the Gothamite survivors believe the city deserves such a costly second chance.****

By the third month of deliberations, Diana can see behind Bruce's weary eyes and shoulders too stubborn to acknowledge the exhaustion. He has to go back. He has to tend to his city. He cannot fight this fight on two fronts, but both Batman and Bruce Wayne are desperately needed. This is when she shows up, against his wishes of course. Bruce is unable to argue she is exactly who he needs and that her timing couldn't have been more perfect. 

He introduces her as his cousin, but Diana already knows the woman who stands beside him in a crisp, white cadet's uniform, her hat with its shiny bill flattened and held with the crook of her elbow against her side. Diana knows the flames of hair and the wildlife eyes, the smile that dazzles with its self-confidence. This young woman who stands beside Bruce is Morning Side.

“Hi. Diana, right? Bruce's told me a lot about you.” Morning Side holds out a hand and gives a warm, knowing smile. “I'm Kate.” 

Diana repeats the name to herself as she shakes the waiting hand. Kate. Short, direct, to the point. Memorable. Much like the woman who wields it. It suits her. She shakes her hand and gives it a squeeze, returning her smile with her own. Diana relishes this moment, to be able to tell this woman with her dawn-spun hair her name and to know in return who she is. There is the smallest melancholy that Burn Bright and Morning Side are now mere characters in a fairytale only they know. Still, they have a secret now, the two of them, one the rest of the world is not privy to, and the instant camaraderie is warm and content. 

With a gruff clearing of his throat, Bruce breaks the moment and brings the conversation back to the matter at hand. 

“Diana's been here supporting me since the beginning. She's agreed to assist you,” he says. “If anyone can convince congress to make the right decision, it'll be Wonder Woman and a soldier in uniform, cadet or not.” 

“You're lucky I'm not offended by being used like this,” Kate says, patting his shoulder as they walk him to the black sedan that awaits. 

“No, you're lucky she's offered to stay and assist you,” he says, catches look she gives Diana and then moves to flick her forehead. “She's my friend, Kate. Be respectful.” 

“What? She can't be my friend too?”

He eyes her in a way Diana has never seen him do, scrutinizing as he normally does but softened with the air of a half-serious joke. The sharp division between Bruce Wayne and Batman blurs and what is forged is a Bruce who can take some things seriously, who can show annoyance at those who don't, or perhaps an unmasked Batman who can find the humor in a serious matter despite how inappropriate. Either way, it's a new experience for her. She's never seen Bruce interact with anyone in this way before and she wonders what it is about Kate that can do this to him. She finds herself thinking on it hours after they saw him off, back to Gotham to start scraping the city and its residents back together. 

In the stark white uniform and the hat with the shiny bill still tucked beneath a bent elbow, Kate glances at her watch and offers the smile that has remained alive in her memories; dazzling, inviting, and promising more of something wonderful if only the recipient is brave enough to ask for it.

“So, what do amazonian Justice Leaguers do for dinner?” Kate asks. “You do eat, don't you?”

“I –.” For the first time in a long while, Diana opens her mouth only to stammer and it makes Kate laugh. Diana's eyebrows knit together lightly for a fraction of a second before she says, “We eat. Of course, we eat.” 

Kate reaches over to take her hand and starts leading her down the street.

“Come on then. I know a good Indian place.” 

-

It was late by the time they made it to the little mom and pop hole-in-the-wall restaurant There was only enough space for five tables with four place settlings and a small bar on the back wall next to the one restroom, but the atmosphere for so cozy and the owner greeted them as if they were guests walking into his home. 

“So. Burn Bright,” Kate says after a plate of vegetable samosas and aloo tikki is delivered and they're left alone again. She doesn't avert her attention her the monikor draws Diana's gaze her way. “How've you been? You look well.” 

“Thank you. I've been well. Busy.”

Kate snorts. “If that isn't the understatement of the century...” 

“Yourself?” Diana asks. She busies herself with transferring one of the aloo tikki to her plate. “Are you still too busy with all those goals and plans you mentioned when we first met?” 

Diana leaves the rest of the question unasked, but by the way Kate keeps her eye on the fork in her hand, she's certain Kate has picked up on it. With the edge of the fork, she cuts a piece off and quietly observes Kate's expressions.

“Still in progress. For the next who knows how many years.” 

Kate reaches over to spears a samosa. There's a half-beat pause and her voice is stronger when she speaks again.

“I've been seeing someone actually.” Kate pauses now and glances at her with an uncertain eyebrow raised before she adds. “You know what 'seeing someone' means, right?”

Diana laughs with a nod of her head.

“Yes, Kate. I know what it means.” She places the bite of seasoned potato speared at the end of her fork in her mouth, amused at Kate's cautious consideration. “It's been a while since your colorful colloquialisms here were confusing.” 

“'Colorful colloquialism', huh?” Kate tries to contain the smirk, but fails. “You've come a long way from your days as Burn Bright, the mysterious.” 

With a smile, Diana says, “As have you, my envoy of the gods.” 

She isn't positive yet, but Diana thinks she sees a small blush barely touch Kate's cheek. Well, good, she thinks. At least the disarming effect is still mutual. She takes the time to eat her appetizer, sipping her water that as the ice cracks and settles. 

“I'm glad you're no longer too busy for such things,” Diana says.

“I don't mind.” Kate clears her throat and then straightens in her chair. “What about you? Anybody out there catch Wonder Woman's interest yet? I mean, since me, anyway.”

The comment brings up a laugh from somewhere inside Diana and she leans forward a little, resting her forearms against the table and lacing her fingers. It's the first time since their reunion that either of them have remotely hinted at what transpired between them beyond the simple conversation they'd had as Bright Burn and Morning Side. 

“That suggests I have the time to have my interest caught like that at all.” she says, blithely, and she rests her forearms against the edge of the table and laces her fingers. “And right now, you are very confident you did.” 

“Didn't I?” 

Kate is motionless in her chair, but her eyes are bright and alive. Diana can see the challenge in them, that spirit who refuses to be defeated. Kate is every bit as she remembers her, but the few years of life since they last saw each other have somehow polished her, given her a little bit of finesse. Diana doesn't know how to describe it. 

When she doesn't respond quickly enough, Kate finally leans forward and lets the corner of her lips lift in a small playful grin. 

“Don't lie to me now, Wonder Woman,” she says. “That actually might hurt a bit if you did.” 

“Then I won't,” Diana says with a smile. She will never know how just how mysterious it comes off to Kate, nor how exciting Kate finds it. “Tell me what she's like then, this woman who's lasted more than one night with my esteemed Morning Side?”

Kate clears her throat as if wondering what level of detail is appropriate to share. The small moment of uncertainty brings out her youth and for just that second, she looks like the young woman who'd watched Diana so carefully before daring to press her lips to hers. 

In the distance outside the restaurant, a shrill cry sounds and the terrible screech of metal against metal tears apart the night stillness. The entire restaurant shakes a few times in time with the loud thuds that follow. Both Diana and Kate are out of their chairs at the same time. 

“Stay here,” they both say at the same time and then stop to look at each other. 

Diana has shed the simple wrap top she had been wearing to reveal the gold of her metal chest piece beneath, the smooth burgundy leather of her bodice worn but well-kept. Her fingers are moving to discard the skirt. Kate has already unbuttoned the crisp white jacket of her cadet uniform and pulls it from her shoulders before tossing it on the back of her chair. 

Before Diana can say anything, Kate reads the comment in her eyes and then scowls, undoing the cuff of her sleeve before folding it back to her elbow.

“Oh no, you don't princess. Don't you dare,” she shouts, starting for the door as she works on her other sleeve.“I'm going whether you like it or not. You're welcome to tag along.”

Kate doesn't wait for her response. She is already through the door, leaving the bell hanging above to chime violently behind her. Bubbles of ...something she hasn't identified yet rise in her chest and she can't help the smile that comes to her lips. Bruce Wayne's cousin, Kate Kane, indeed. In the next moment, she's free of the skirt and the Golden Perfect is loosed from confinement. Then she's out the door after Kate without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter split into two. I was waiting to post both parts but part 2 has some ...tweaking that still needs doing. Also, I'm going to start listing the canon parts and the issues they're from in the End Notes from now on because I reference a lot. But I also make up a lot of shit. I figure, this way, you'll know what parts is my BS and what parts aren't. Um. Yay? They're noted by asterisks, so hopefully they are not too distracting while reading. Then again, this me, notorious for not seeing my glaringly obvious typos until way too late, so if you suffer through those unscathed, maybe a couple asterisks won't be so bad. 
> 
> The events of this story have become vitally important to a second story I've been working on, a sequel of sorts to Courtship. To keep things as simple and clean as possible (for my sake), both stories are going to be posted simultaneously, with the goal of at least once a month. 
> 
> * Wonder Woman (1987-2011) #197 Down to Earth Part 2, Oct 22, 2003. Collected in Wonder Woman Down to Earth trade paperback (2004) and Wonder Woman by Greg Rucka vol 1 (2019).
> 
> ** Batman (1940-2011) #561 and 562 Mr. Wayne Goes to Washington parts 2 and 3, Jan 1999, Feb 1999. Collected in Road to No Man's Land Vol 2 (2016). 
> 
> *** Uh… just look up the tpb Batman: Cataclysm (2015) if you're interested in the earthquake and all the damage. No Man's Land was a massive storyline that ran for a full year across all Batman titles that were running at the end of the 90s. 
> 
> ****Refer to **

**Author's Note:**

> 3.15.2020 - What am I doing to myself?


End file.
